


Lights

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Car Accidents, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Death, Deathfic, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Ghosts, Hospitalization, M/M, Near Death Experience, Resolution, eulogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took Tyler six minutes, fifty-four seconds, and thirteen hundredths of a second to realize that he loved Brad.</p><p>It took Brad one year, five months, two weeks, six days, twenty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, and forty-one-point-seven seconds to realize that he loved Tyler.</p><p>It took Tyler less than thirty seconds to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hit The Lights

**Author's Note:**

> NEVER ENOUGH WARNINGS: THERE IS DEATH DEATH DEATH AND ALSO NEAR DEATH. WARNING! DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER; DANGER!

                It took Tyler six minutes, fifty-four seconds, and thirteen hundredths of a second to realize that he loved Brad.

                It took Brad one year, five months, two weeks, six days, twenty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, and forty-one-point-seven seconds to realize that he loved Tyler.

                One only had to watch them skate suicides; Tyler was always faster than Brad. Whatever it was, Ty always got there first. He always beat Brad, whatever the contest was.

                So it only made sense that this occasion would maintain that pattern.

                Brad would never admit it, but he secretly hated driving in Boston. Anywhere in New England, actually. The overly-aggressive drivers terrified him. One of his first days there, he’d gotten stuck in a round-about, had to go around thrice. The horns honking constantly and the R-less swearing made Brad freeze up, which only increased the melee around him.

                Oddly—or not oddly, come to think of it—Tyler loved driving in Boston. It was actually one of his favorite things to do when there was nothing special that needed his attention. Tyler loved driving almost as much as he loved iced coffee and hockey and Brad. He would happily chauffer Brad anywhere, everywhere. “Let’s go on an adventure!” he would call, dragging Brad out at all hours to go to a place he had heard of or just to drive.

                That was what they had been doing that day. Just driving. They had a map, but after five minutes of turning it over and around and having Tyler laugh at him, Brad had crumpled it up and lobbed it into the backseat. “Fuck it; what are smartphones for anyways?”

                Tyler laughed, tipping his head back. “I love you.”

                 Brad reached over and wrapped his hand around Tyler’s where it was sitting on the steering wheel of his truck. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

                Brad had punched on the radio, shooting Ty a mocking look when the unmistakable music of a teen girl pop station poured out. “Oh, shut up,” Ty huffed, staring straight ahead.

                They were stopped at the light when Tyler glanced up in the rearview mirror and bit his lower lip. “Don’t hit me, dude.”

                The car stopped just behind them. Tyler winced at the closeness and sighed, “Thank you.”

                Brad giggled, “You worry too much.”

                Tyler looked hurt, “It’s my baby. I don’t want people fucking up my baby.”

                Pouting, Brad turned sideways to look at Tyler, “Thought _I_ was your baby.”

                Tyler rolled his eyes, smiling that sunshine smile, “Nah. You’re my babe, not my baby.”

                “Oh,” Brad smiled. “Okay then.”

                “You got anything to say to meeee-eeeee?”

                “Oh. Sure.” Brad cleared his throat, “Tyler…you’re halfway fuckin’ retarded.”

                Tyler looked at him, shocked, for a moment and then burst out laughing again.

                And then the car behind them jolted forward, slamming them forward into their seatbelts. “Mother _fucker_!” Tyler shouted.

                Brad sucked in a breath. His chest hurt; there would definitely be a bruise across his torso tomorrow. His eyes went wide when he realized that the rear-ending had thrust Tyler’s truck out into the intersection.

                “Um…Ty?” he asked, turning to Tyler.

                “What?” Tyler grit out, slightly winded, as he locked eyes with Brad.

                Brad couldn’t answer. What he saw terrified him.

                It took Tyler six minutes, fifty-four seconds, and thirteen hundredths of a second to realize that he loved Brad.

                It took Brad one year, five months, two weeks, six days, twenty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, and forty-one-point-seven seconds to realize that he loved Tyler.

                It took forever for the sedan to slam into Tyler’s truck.

                It took less than thirty seconds for Tyler to die.

                Brad saw his entire body snap forward, then backwards, watched his head smack against the window, hard enough to make the glass spiderweb and shatter. He heard the crunch that he knew—after years of hockey, he knew—was bone shattering.

                And then the momentum of the car hitting Tyler’s side slid the truck into another car, this one hitting Brad’s side.

                And Brad blacked out.


	2. Lights Go Out And I Can’t Be Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s unresponsive.”
> 
> “Bradley? Bradley, can you hear me, honey?”
> 
> “Brad,” a new voice said quietly. “He’s called Brad. Don’t call him Bradley. He hates it. Only his mom can call him Bradley.”
> 
> Tyler.

                Lights floated just beyond Brad’s eyelids.

                _There was something out there._

                He wanted to open them, see the light, but the dark was kinda comforting. There wasn’t much there.

                Nothing, actually.

                But beyond the nothing, something.

                A hum.

                Motion.

                All around him.

                He smelled blood.

                Lots of blood and…plastic.

                _Plastic?_

                He tried to move his arms.

                Couldn’t move.

                Legs.

                Couldn’t move.

                He felt ropes across his chest.

                _Tied?_

                Strapped.

                Strapped down on a gurney.

                His eyelids fluttered open. Dark sky by his feet. Red and blue lights. Metal walls?

                “Pupils are dilated.”

                “BP’s falling.”

                “He’s unresponsive.”

                “Bradley? Bradley, can you hear me, honey?”

                “Brad,” a new voice said quietly. “He’s called Brad. Don’t call him Bradley. He hates it. Only his mom can call him Bradley.”

                _Tyler._

                He opened his mouth a little. “Ty…ler.”

                Brad was wrong.

                Tyler wasn’t dead.

                Tyler was still alive.

                Tyler _was_.

                Brad felt a hand on his forehead, “Babe, I’m right here. I’m right here, Brad.”

                “I…love…you,” he choked.

                “I know, babe. I know.”

                 “Ty…Tyler. I…l-l-love…you.”

                “It’s okay, I know.”

                Brad scrabbled for Tyler’s hand, “I love…”

                “Me, I know.” His hand soothed Brad’s forehead.

                “Bradley!”

                “Hush now, Marchy. Hush.”

                Something sharp jabbed into the crook of Brad’s elbow. He whimpered.

                “Shhhh. It’s okay, babe.”

                He tried to speak but it just came out like mush. “Tylurgh. Luh…luh few.”

                “I know. I know.” Brad could hear the smile in his voice.

                “O…kay.”


	3. Lights Will Guide You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um…Brad?”
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> “Who’re you talking to?”
> 
> He smiled, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy. But I’m talking to Ty. And he’s talking back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEIR LOVE IS STRONGER THAN DEATH, OKAY?

                “Oh, _shit_. Guys, you guys, I think he’s waking up.”

                “Shit, _Brad_.”

                [Brad.]

                “Ty?” Brad whimpered.

                [Right here, babe.]

                He sighed, relieved. “ _Ty_.”

                “No, Brad. It’s Andrew.”

                “Fer?”

                “Yeah. You awake?”

                “Think so…”

                [Of _course_ he’s awake, Fer.]

                “That’s good.”

                Brad blinked hard, working probably-too-hard to focus. Fer came into focus at the foot of his bed. Zee was beside him. Boychuk was hovering a little farther back, and beside him was Dougie. But Brad didn’t see Tyler.

                “Where’s Ty?” he rasped.

                Zee’s eyes shuttered and Brad saw Dougie shoot a glance at Fer.

                Fer cleared his throat. “’Member what happened, Marchy?”

                Brad hesitated. “Not…really. No.”

                [Car accident,] Tyler breathed. Brad whipped his head to the side; it sounded like Ty was right beside him, whispering in his ear. But when he looked, all he saw was a beige wall with pale green stripes bordering the ceiling and floor.

                “Car accident?” he repeated.

                “Yeah. Yeah,” Boych said.

                Fer looked pleased. “That’s good, Marchy.”

                “Where’s Ty?” he repeated.

                “You broke your leg,” Dougie whispered. “And, like, three ribs on your right side.”

                Huh. So that was why his entire right side felt numb.

                “You have a concussion, Brad,” Zee said. Brad’s head snapped up; Zee was using his captain voice.

                Pictures flashed through Brad’s brain: Bergy, Savvy, Horty. His voice was barely a whisper, “What grade?”

                [It’s okay, babe; it was only grade two.]

                “Grade two? Well that’s not…awful.”

                Every man’s eyebrows smashed together. They all looked to their captain, who looked equally confused. “Brad…how did you…?”

                “How’d I what?” Brad suddenly felt incredibly tired.

                “How did you…know your concussion was grade two? We didn’t say anything.”

                “Ty…Ty said…” Brad watched all the defensemen’s faces went slack with horror. “ _What?!_ ” he bit out.

                “Brad…Tyler…you were in a car accident. And Tyler…Tyler didn’t...”

                “What?” Brad whispered. “I don’t understa…”

                But when he did, he felt himself start to shake.

                The…incident…replayed in a series of snapshots on the inside of Brad’s eyelids. He saw the sedan. Swore. _Crash_. Screamed, “ _Tyler_!” Tyler’s body slammed against his window. It didn’t break but he hit it hard enough to crack it and leave streaks of blood on the glass. “ _Tyler_?!”

                Then there was an impact on Brad’s side. He heard the groaning screech of twisting metal. His window shadowed. Glass rained. Brad was covered in crushed glass. It glittered like diamonds. _Pretty_ , he thought vaguely. _Sparkly._

                Darkness.

                “Ty woulda liked it.”

                “What?”

                “It was sparkly. Ty woulda liked it.”

                [I did, Brad. I did. It _was_. It was so pretty, in some weird macabre way. I saw you and you were just, like, _lying_ there and you were covered in all that pulverized glass and you looked like a glitter angel. But then there was all that blood and it was…awful, it was awful; it looked like you were drowning in blood.]

                “Oh geez, how much did you hate _that_?” Brad said, grinning slightly. Tyler hated blood with the same fervor that he loved driving and iced coffee and hockey and Brad. It was actually kinda funny; for a hockey player, he sure was squeamish.

                [It was pretty gross. I thought I was gonna throw up. But then I tried and…I couldn’t. So I just waited with you. Until the ambulance got there. ‘Cause I figured you’d be scared. ‘Cause I know _I’d_ be scared. And then I held your hand in the ambulance, remember?]

                “No.”

                “Um…Brad?”

                Fer’s eyes were huge. “Yeah?”

                “Who’re you talking to?”

                He smiled, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy. But I’m talking to Ty. And he’s talking back.”

                Zee’s eyes were tight with pain. “He’s dead. Tyler’s dead, Brad.”

                Brad nodded. “Can I see him?”

                “No.”

                “ _Hell_ no.”

                “ _Brad_.”

                “ _No_.”

                [Yeah. Come see me, babe.]

                “Tomorrow?” he bargained. “You can’t keep me in this room forever.”

                [You tell ‘em.] Tyler paused, [Ask Fer; Fer’ll crack.]

                “Fer,” Brad pleaded. “C’mon.”

                Indecision twisted Andrew’s face and then he nodded. “Tomorrow.”

                The boys didn’t stay much longer. Fer gave him a hug on his way out, the ones he usually saved for his daughters, the ones that simply _oozed_ love. Boych squeezed his foot through the blanket, shaking it gently. Dougie shot him a quick, too-tight smile. Zee was the last one out. He stopped and peered at Brad. “Are you gonna be alright tonight?”

                “Yeah,” Brad said quietly. “I think so.”

                When his door closed he leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes and sighing. Two cool hands were suddenly massaging his temples. [I got you, Brad. I gotcha.]

                “I know,” Brad mumbled. “But I need a minute. D’you think…Ty, d’you think you could just…stop touching me…or just go…for a sec?” He needed a minute. He needed to take a second and stop and tell himself that his best friend would never be with him ever again. They’d never play together, or stand side by side as an anthem that wasn’t their own played in a dark arena. They’d never go for another mindless drive, or visit a carnival in some small town and kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel like giddy teenagers. They’d never bitch and complain about going to practice or play with Marshall together—fuck, _Marshall_. They’d never dress up for charity events or pose for another team picture together.

                Instantly, the cold pressure on either side of his head was gone. With a light ruffle of his hair, Tyler breezed out of Brad’s consciousness.

                [I’ll be back. I love you.]


	4. You Shine When I’m Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days later, Brad flew to Brampton and dressed in a black suit and went to Tyler’s funeral.
> 
> And Tyler stood beside him through all of it.
> 
> Tyler was dead and buried in the ground.
> 
> But Brad hadn’t lost him.

                Brad got to crutch down to the morgue the next morning.

                He wasn’t expecting what he saw.

                [Hey,] Tyler murmured from behind him. [I look pretty good…for a dead guy.]

                “Fuck yourself,” Brad muttered, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I hate you, you stupid asshole. Why did you have to die?”

                The person on the table _looked_ like Tyler, but it couldn’t be him.

                No way.

                Except that he knew that it was.

                It was.

                There was the enormous, ridiculous arm tattoo, the one that he secretly loved to trace with the tip on his tongue. There was the championship tattoo on his ribs. He felt a cool touch on his own tattoo. They—who was they? Who cared?—had stitched up a large cut leading down from his hairline to his ear. There were also several smaller cuts all over his face and shoulders and upper arms.

                [It’s okay, Brad. Didn’t hurt.]

                Brad flashed back to six months prior.

                “I’m never gonna forget the time I walked into your house, just as you tumbled head over heels all the way down the entire staircase.”

                Tyler laughed, [And you stared at me, all stunned when I bounced to my feet and blurted ‘Didn’t hurt!’ and bounded up to you and gave you a kiss.]

                “Yeah,” Brad sighed.

                [You done gazing upon my utter beauty?]

                “I’d push you if I could see you.”

****************

                Three days later, Brad flew to Brampton and dressed in a black suit and went to Tyler’s funeral.

                Hugged his mom, and Ty’s mom.

                Gave Ty’s corpse a kiss.

                Said a couple words.

                Cried a little.

                And Tyler stood beside him through all of it.

                Tyler was dead and buried in the ground.

                But Brad hadn’t lost him.

                Brad had stopped talking to Tyler aloud when anyone was within earshot. The team had accepted his lame excuse of “painkillers made me do it”. But when he stood in the Seguin’s living room and shook hands with people and told stories, Tyler was pressed all along his back, his arms wrapped around Brad’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. He bit at Brad’s ear, mouthed at his neck, murmuring [I love you] every few minutes.

                That night, when they were curled together on the couch, Brad asked him why. “Why do you constantly tell me that you love me?”

                He pictured Tyler blushing. [Um…because I feel _bad_ , okay Brad? I feel bad that I didn’t tell you more…before. I mean, you went to my fucking _funeral_ today; if there was ever a day you deserved to be held and loved all day long, it was today.]

                Brad scooted back into the couch, pulling the sleeves of the sweatshirt (from juniors—it was still huge on Brad) he’d stolen from Segs’ closet down over his hands. He tucked his head into Tyler’s chest and sighed.

                [Whatcha thinkin’ about, Bradie-poo?]

                “Oh, fuck you.” Tyler chuckled. “I was just wondering. When you died…were you…were you happy?”

                [I was with you. Of course I was happy.]


	5. I’ll Be Your Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s with great sadness and a heavy heart that I remember what today is...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later...

                Brad’s hands were shaking from the moment he got in his car after practice until he reached his apartment. They were actually still shaking then; he could barely get his key in the door. He pushed open the door, slammed it shut, went in, and slid down the wall just inside his front door, hunkering down as he covered his face with his hands.

                Tyler had been sitting—or actually sort of floating, he didn’t really _sit_ anymore—on the couch and when he saw Brad come in, he threw down his magazine (the latest _In Touch_ ) and moved down to face Brad as he watched the smaller body tremble with the force of his sobs. He touched Brad’s shoulder lightly, [Marchy…?]

                Brad’s breath caught in his throat as soon as Tyler touched him. After what felt like the longest time, Brad finally pulled his face away from his hands. His eyes were pink and his lower lip bright red, like he’d been biting it. Brad looked _wrecked_ , and not in a good or sexy way.

                [ _Brad_ ,] Tyler breathed. [What is it, babe? What’s wrong?]

                “Tyler?” Brad could barely force the word out of his throat. “Ty. Ty, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. You promised—you _promised_ —to be there for all of it, for the rest of my life, for the rest of _our_ life. And now you’re gone and I _can’t_. Tyler. Please I need, I need...” He choked, a deep, quaking sob ripping from his chest. “I need you to come _home_ , Ty.”

                Brad had held it together for a year but today—three hundred and sixty-five days after _that_ day—he just couldn’t.

                His entire world was gone in a heartbeat. Dead and buried. Brad had watched, had seen his coffin lowered into the ground. He still had his team, still had hockey, but without Tyler, it all seemed a little pointless. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t _tried_ , because fuck, he’d tried; he’d gone on a points streak after Tyler died, had racked them up in bunches, had even had two six-point nights in one month. He’d won the scoring title, tried to smile when they took his picture, but all he could think about was how he and Tyler had always had their little competition, who could hit a certain number of goals first and how the winner always got a celebratory blowjob. Brad missed him.

                God, it hurt.

                But just as the pain in Brad’s chest got to be too tight, too much, Tyler suddenly had him in his cool arms. He rocked the older man gently, softly singing that song about never walking alone, the way he used to do whenever Brad was injured or sick. They’d discovered it while watching Bergy’s tapes (seriously, VHS tapes) of the Vancouver Olympics (after teasing him mercilessly about having his neighbors tape the games for him so he could watch himself play later), the song on some sappy commercial about moms and their kids. He sobbed, clutching at Tyler, burying his face in the younger man’s shoulder, even though he couldn’t see him.

                [Shhh. Brad, shhhh.  I love you, okay? I love you, and I can’t come back, but I always won’t ever leave. I get it; things aren’t really okay, and they probably aren’t ever gonna be totally okay, but I promise, Brad…I promise that I am always gonna be here. Every year, every month, every week, every day, every hour, every minute, every second. I _promise_.]

                Brad shuddered and turned his face farther into the join of Tyler’s neck and shoulder.

                “I just miss you, Ty. So fucking much that I can’t even breathe sometimes.”

                [I know, babe. Me too.]

                Brad curled up on his floor, clinging tight to Tyler, who was still whispering comforting words in his ear. “Hey, Ty?” he asked after a while.

                [Yes, Brad?] He felt Tyler’s breath ghost across his temple and seriously how was that even possible, the man didn’t even breathe anymore.

                “If it was different…if it was me…would you be this fucked up?”

                He heard Tyler choke and then the cold arms hugged him so hard that it was uncomfortable. [Jesus, Brad,] Tyler whispered harshly into his hair. [Yes, fuck _yes_ , of _course_.] He paused, [Probably more, actually. It would have destroyed me. You’re so much stronger, Brad, you made it through. I love you so goddamn much.] Tyler carded his fingers through Brad’s hair until the smaller man’s breathing had settled. [Okay?] he asked, his voice shaking just a little.

                “Yeah. Well, _no_ , but yeah.” Brad sighed, pulled back…and froze.

                [’S wrong?] Tyler exclaimed, grabbing Brad’s upper arms.

                “Ty…Ty, I can… _see_ you.”

                Tyler’s mouth fell open. [What?] he breathed.

                “I. Can. _See_. You,” Brad repeated. If he’d had any tears left he was pretty sure they would be streaming down his face in that moment, but he didn’t, he was all cried out, so instead he gasped for air and reached out to touch Tyler’s cheek.

                Tyler wasn’t white, or pale blue, like a Scooby-Doo cartoon ghost. He was almost see-through, but not totally transparent. _Translucent_ , Brad’s brain supplied. Thank you, sixth grade science.  Tyler’s face was shiny—wet, Brad realized, drenched, actually—and the vibrant smile he remembered was nowhere to be seen.

                [You can see me?] Tyler whispered, his eyes widening.

                “Yeah.”

                And then that grin appeared, so wide that his eyes almost disappeared, [Fuck yes. Goddamn, Brad. I love you like a crazy person.]

                They stayed that way until Brad was dozing and Tyler had to heave him up to his feet and push him into bed. He tucked a blanket around the smaller man so that he would be able to come back and snuggle with him without Brad getting too cold (Tyler’s temperature ran about a frigid forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit those days). Then Tyler floated back into the living room and picked up his laptop.

                He opened the page that he knew would contain Brad’s public statement for today, the first anniversary of his…death.

                Brad had done a really nice job (though Tyler was pretty sure that Fer had helped him out a bit with the wording; Brad wasn’t usually very eloquent, if at all).

                “ _It’s with great sadness and a heavy heart that I remember what today is. One year ago today, we lost Tyler Paul Seguin. Tyler wasn’t just one of the hockey world’s best rightwings. He was Jackie and Paul’s son. He was_ _Candace and Cassidy’s big brother. He was part of the family that is the Boston Bruins hockey team. Much more importantly, though, he was my best friend._

_Today, my thoughts and prayers go out to Tyler’s family and I sincerely hope that everyone will respect their privacy during this difficult time. I’d like to thank all of Tyler’s friends for all the heartfelt conversations and stories we’ve shared in the past year. It is certainly comforting to know that his brilliance and antics were appreciated by all and that he was loved so much._

_So tonight, I will raise my glass—still more than half full—and I will drink to Tyler Paul Seguin, wherever he may be. Only I will call him TyTy Segs, because that is his name.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you all liked this ambiguously-positive ending! I had another in mind but that one left us with sad and broken Brad and this fic already contains enough sad Brad, doncha think?


End file.
